Reminiscences
by AngelicaS
Summary: Complete! She first met him in sixth grade, and that's when the trouble started. The two loved to torment each other. Yet as the years went by, they couldn't help but wonder. Have they missed out on the greatest love of their lifetime?


Reminiscences  
  
by Angelica S.  
  
Hey, I can't believe I started writing again. I haven't wrote in ages. In   
fact, looking back at my earliest work - Falling - I want to cringe. It   
sucked! I wasn't sure whether or not to remove that piece, but decided to   
keep it there... for memories.   
  
Okay, I got a new fanfic. Its a short one-piece. There's another, more long  
piece of work planned out, but I wouldn't dare post it until it is done, or   
almost done.   
  
This story is about Serena and Darien's first meetings from sixth grade to   
the end of high school. Do you know that a LOT of the stuff that happens is  
true? There was this huge crush I had on this guy that loved (I mean LOVED  
to tease me). Of course, nothing happened after middle school , but it was  
a good reference for this story. Anyway, can't ramble too much. Enjoy!

I remembered the first day that I saw her. She was so cute, but always   
seemed oblivious of that fact. It was the first day of sixth grade, and I  
already picked her as my target. I sat across from her and the first thing I  
did was to stretch my legs way out into her space. She fumed but didn't say  
anything. Instead, she would shift uncomfortably to one side of the chair and  
move her legs as far as possible away from me. So the girl was the polite type,  
I thought to myself as I grinned at her. She refused to look at me.   
  
I remember the first day that I saw him. He was cute, and was the type  
that didn't needed to be reminded of it. The first day of middle school started  
out normally enough I suppose. I had been stuck in a class that contained only   
a few people from my elementary school, and I had always been shy. This boy that  
sat across from me had the nerve to leer at me as he stretched his legs all the   
way out, touching my knee. Oh lord, I coud feel my cheeks burn crimson. I   
decided to scoot myself as far away from him as possible.  
  
I don't remember when I started to tease her. It just happened. She  
would get furious over the littlest things. Especially over her eraser. I loved  
stealing her eraser. During the course of that year, I couldn't remember how   
many times I had stolen her various erasers. The girl never seemed to run out of   
them. I'd hastly scribble my name on them in pencil, digging into the rubber  
to permanently imprint them with me. I think that it was a very subconcious desire  
to inscribe my name in her forever.   
  
I don't remember why he teased me. He just did. And he teased only me.   
The guy had a thing for my erasers. He would steal them when I wasn't looking,  
carve his name into them, and then I would have to change erasers (I was a   
perfectionist... still am). And he would steal them again. And the dreadful  
cycle continued. I hated him. Or so I claimed. 

She hated me. I was sure of it. Yet every time I would tease her, she   
would blush in that very cute way. After a quarter, she had enough of me. We  
were going to trade seats and to tell you the truth, I was sourly disappointed.  
She had wanted to be next to her best friend. So I decided to help the girl   
out. After all, I felt guilty about making fun of her all the time. And... she  
was pretty cute. Ever if she was oblivious to it. The teacher had randomly   
assigned numbers to seats. And we were suppose to pick a number and she'll tell  
us the seat we "chose". Fair enough. Except... I had seen the numbers she   
assigned. I had asked her to pick seven (right next to her best friend). She   
looked at me in that suspicious little way that she always does and opened her  
mouth, saying ten loud and clear. I had not wanted to see where ten led to.  
Sure enough, it led to a seat next to me in the last row... secluded from everyone  
else.  
  
I don't know why I said ten that day. I didn't trust him. He said seven,  
and I was definitely not going to listen to him. When I found out where my new  
seat was, I did a double take. He looked shocked as well. I can still see his  
face... angry and full of surprise. Apparently, seven was actually the seat next  
to my best friend. Instead of sitting next to her, I'm now stuck with sitting   
next to him for another two and a half months. Hesitantly dropping my stuff on  
the desk next to his, I gave him a quick glance. He snatched a tissue box nearby  
and placed it between us. And that was our barrier. For a while, anyway.  
  
I remembered when she cried that day. She had build a bridge out of wood  
sticks for tech. ed. class. And they were suppose to test it today. For some  
reason, it was broken that morning. I didn't ask why. The poor girl was so   
sad. She looked on the verge of tears. And then I had to mention something   
about her being so clumsy she couldn't build a bridge right. That was when she  
started the waterworks on me. I didn't know what to do at that point. Instead,  
feeling incredibly guilty, I would look every once in a while in her direction,  
watching her use Elmer's glue to try to fix the poor excuse of a bridge. The   
teachers didn't say anything either. It didn't matter that she was not paying   
attention to class. She looked too depressed and they gave her a break.  
  
My dad had yelled at me that day for not cleaning my room. He finally   
got fed up with me not making my bed for the hundredth time. And in anger, I   
didn't know where I was going. I stepped on my own bridge. Go ahead. Laught  
at me. The bridge had been the result of hours of work - sanding and cutting   
and gluing. I had taken it home to glue the last bits onto it. And then, in   
one single moment, my perfect bridge was reduced to rubble. I was devastated.   
I was always obsessed with grades. Maybe I still am. Your bridge needed to hold   
a specific weight to get a certain grade. Now I was sure I would never hold the   
pounds needed to get an A. The thought of marring my 4.0 record sent new tears   
flooding down my cheeks. And that jerk made it worse by commenting on my clumsiness.   
I wanted to die. Luckily, my friend helped me hold the bridge together (my hands   
were too shaky to hold still long enough for the glue to work). I still got an A.  
  
I didn't quite know when I started to fall for her. Maybe the obsession  
started the very first day. But it was so fun to tease her. She would give me  
that little glare of hers and sometimes, be so angry that she would be reduced to   
a stuttering mess. And I, subconsciously, tried to touch her. Sometimes I would   
stretch my arms out deep into her personal bubble. Other times, I would shove  
all my stuff on her side of the desk, leaving her to lean dangerously over to   
the far left.   
  
You'd think that you'd hate a boy that teased you whenever he can. And I   
did. Sort of. I would constantly fume to my friends about what a jerk he'd been  
and they'd nod their heads sympathetically at me. In the meantime, they would   
give roll their eyes to each other over my head. Everyone knew that I was in for   
it BAD. Yet the person I fooled the most was myself. I would be in a constant   
state of denial. I couldn't imagine myself liking anybody, much less HIM.   
Besides, I hated him, remember? Why would I like someone that plagued my existence.   
I still recall the time when I was late for gym class. I was jogging to gym when   
he and his friends came and made rude noises. He then leaned across the railings   
separating us and reached over, as if to grab me. I quickly ran out of his reach.

It wasn't possible to ask her out. She was... well... unpopular. And I   
was. Back then, it was impossible for any of us to see the stupidity of those   
little cliques. During the recess after lunch, the guys (well, more like the   
athletic popular guys) would play football on the field and the girls would sit  
and gossip and do other things. She would love to play at the little swing/slide  
area. And sometimes, she would sit on the tower up above, enjoying the view of  
higher ground. That is until I assault her with woodchips. I would pick up  
the woodchips and throw them at her, aiming for her hair. And she would shriek  
and try to throw some back. The girl really never did have much of an aim.

But we separated after second quarter. We had gotten new seats again and  
we were farther away now (on separate tables). He chuckled and shouted to me  
from across the room, "this is much better, right?". Did he hated sitting next  
to me that much? I felt myself flush. Our fights were famous. It was obvious  
to everyone that we simply could not get along. But deep inside, I missed him.  
I missed him terribly.  
  
The guys patted my back and expressed how glad they were that I was sitting  
near them, not HER. But as the days dragged by, it seemed incredibly boring   
without her at my side. She was so amusing to tease. I could send her exploding  
with the simplest maneuvers.   
  
The last real memorable moment was the end of sixth grade. We had our   
Egyptian unit and once again, he was part of my group. We were supposed to do  
a mummification (or was it sacrificial? I couldn't remember) ritual. I eagerly  
decided to be the priest performing the ceremony. After all, HE was going to be  
the victim. I had planned this moment for ages. A chance to stab HIM! To give  
him some of the pain he had given me. But... at that moment... when I held the   
scissors ("knife") in my hands... I couldn't.  
  
The moment she held that pair of scissors in her hands, I considered   
fleeing for my life. She was a clumsy girl... a clumsy girl that hated me. She  
could seriously hurt me. But when she came up close... she had the strangest  
look in her eyes. I felt myself melt (yes, I'll forfeit masculinity and say that  
I melted). She gently, very gently, pointed the scissor at my chest. I looked  
up at her face before closing my eyes, pretending to be dead. The class was quiet.  
I guess everyone saw that moment between us.  
  
That wasn't suppose to happen. Everyone saw how awkward it had seemed. For  
a moment, I felt as if I wasn't in this world. I felt like I had been transported  
to another place, where only he existed. I couldn't hurt him. I just couldn't.

I wanted to ask her out. For a brief moment, I felt the courage to ask her  
out. For real. It was nearing to be the last day of school. And she was standing  
in the lunch line, as usual. She was so cute. As always. And oblivious of it.   
I walked toward her, and she noticed that, and looked puzzled. Then, this other  
guy talked to her and she, purposely ignoring me, talked back to him.   
  
I saw him approaching, and my heart seemed to leap out of my chest. What  
did he want? Another guy, this nerdy, strange but nice Asian, asked me a question.  
I quickly turned my attention to him. When I looked back at HIM, he was gone.  
And I looked around for him, confused. What could he possibly want? But... inside,  
deep inside my heart... I knew.  
  
I didn't see her again until the next year. To my disappointment, I didn't  
have a single class with her that year. But as I pass the halls, I couldn't help   
but say hello.  
  
He said hello! Nicely! That confounded me. He was suppose to hate me.   
Why did he say hi to me during the hallway? And I, confused, said hi politely   
back. I wanted a class with him. Even, god forbid, gym. Although that would  
embarress me forever (he's wonderful at sports, while me... well I can't even  
manage to hit a volleyball over the net), I would still get to see him. It was  
during this time that I finally admitted to liking him. It took a long time to  
get over my pride and confusion. Still, I couldn't admit this to anyone. Later,  
I found out that they knew anyway. It didn't exactly take a genius to figure out   
that I was smitten.   
  
I was smitten. I couldn't admit to my friends at this point. First of all,  
while some early bloomers had decided to like girls, most of them still thought   
females were an entirely different species. If I had admited to liking her, it would   
be suicide for me. I'll never hear the end of it. Especially since she wasn't   
popular and was a little too nerdy. But in a cute way.  
  
He made me cry again before the year was over. We were near our lockers,   
my friend and I. We were talking and laughing. Unfortunately, his best friend's  
locker is also next to me. He would often come to "talk" to his friend (the motive  
was probably to annoy me). My memory is too fuzzy to remember what argument  
we got into this time. But it ended with me calling him a "bastard" and he   
calling me a "whore" (or the equivilent of that). I said whatever (which he  
and his friends laughed at... why I still don't know) and grabbed my friend.  
But during the bus ride home, I seriously felt tears welling up. I shouldn't have  
cared. He was nothing but a little jerk. I mean, the crush had been going on  
for almost two years now. Enough is enough, right?  
  
I'll never forget the crushed expression her face displayed when I called her  
that. Now that I reflect back on it, it was a really silly insult. She was a little  
bookworm, and probably has never even touched another guy. But nonetheless, I   
realized that I had hurt her deeply. But there was nothing I could do.   
  
I finally had a class with him again during eighth grade. I had gotten  
to Spanish class early on that first day (I always get to class early). And later,   
just before the bell rang, he rushed into the room just in time. My jaws dropped.   
And my friends coughed purposefully. The teacher commenced row-call. When she   
said my name, he leaned over to get a better look at me and smirked as usual. Seems   
that he had not forgotten sixth grade.   
  
I was ecstatic. She's in my class again! I wanted to leap up and down. I   
had a huge crush on her, and at that moment, I loved her even more. I looked   
across at her and when she saw me, she turned red and deliberately turned away.   
The teacher said we could sit wherever we want. So she decided to sit  
front and center (like the studious person she is). I groaned. I wanted to sit   
next to her, but the idea of sitting up front was not pleasing. I was a trouble  
maker back then. Still, I plopped my books down next to her.  
  
He sat next to me! He sat next to me! But my friends were giving me weird  
looks. Shanna was beckoning me to sit in front of her, a good three seats away  
from him. She knew that I hated him. I hesitated. I wanted to sit next to him SO  
BADLY. But my reputation was on the line. And besides, did I really want him to   
steal my eraser again? So I moved at the last minute.   
  
Damn! She moved! Why? And my heart stood still. She hated me. She  
couldn't even stand the idea of sitting near me. And I liked her. So so much.   
Watching her laugh with her friends was like a dull knife being stabbed into my   
heart.   
  
I saw a blond girl sit next to him. She was new to the school this year   
and she was really cute. Soon, it was obvious that they were going to be a couple.

Yeah, the new girl was cute. Real cute. A little blond number with legs.   
She was also in the same social group as me and would never give me glares if I  
teased her. Eighth grade was the year everyone noticed that there existed an   
opposite sex. People started going out for the first time. The popular people   
went out first and everyone would talk about us, as if holding hands was scandalous  
(dating only became widespread during the last two years of high school). The blond   
was perfectly complaisant. She laughed at my jokes and said the right things.   
And she wasn't smart like HER. A girl that gets straight As is intimidating,   
especially if she thinks you're just a "dumb jock". Yet I could never really   
forget her. She was always there. My eyes were always drawn to that figure   
paying avid attention at the Spanish teacher.  
  
Slowly, my heart shattered during that year. Watching him flirt with another  
girl was torture. He would whisper huskily to her that he wanted to "picture her   
naked". It was disgusting. It was quite lecherous. But I still wished that he  
said those things to me. The blong would blush prettily. I hated her. I really   
did. During that class, I felt incredibly alone. I was too embarressed to act   
like myself under his gaze, but also could not talk to him. Our teacher randomly   
selects our partners for conversation activties. I never got him as my partner.   
Not even once... while Shanna (the same Shanna that helped me mend my bridge) had   
to practice "Como estas? and Donde ibas durante tu vacaccion?" with him three times   
(yes, I counted). During that time, I realized that the crush was over. Maybe   
he never liked me. Maybe he always hated me and enjoyed teasing me at my expense.   
Of course that's what he did. Right?  
  
I was too preoccupied with the blond to try to talk to her anymore. Besides,  
my girlfriend and my friends would think it was too weird if I talked to a "nerdy"  
girl like her. In fact, I had only spoken to her once that year. It was during  
the day that my girlfriend was gone. She had been partnered up with a guy near   
me and she was talking about her favorite show, Sailor Moon (I had made fun of  
her obsession with it since six grade). "You still hooked on that show?" I asked  
and then proceeded to give her a lame imitation of a Sailor Moon pose. She   
simply glared at me. She was so cute. And so oblivious of it.   
  
When he made fun of me that time, he caught me by surprise. I gave him a   
good glare before continuing to practice my Spanish. Strange. He only talked  
to me on the day his girlfriend was sick. During one quarter of that year, fate   
placed him behind me. When he would pass things from the back to the front of the   
row, he would put them on top of my head. Then they would topple over. And I'd have   
to pick them up. Once, I got so mad that I crumpled the papers. I heard his   
girlfriend ask, suspiciously, "What's with her?" and he would laugh and reply "She's   
got a thing against me since the sixth grade."  
  
I liked sitting behind her. Then I could analyze her hair and neck. She  
always paid attention in class. I was amused by the way she could hunch over  
during an important part, scribbling furiously, and then pause, read over what  
she wrote, before writing again. And she would often unconciously touch her  
hair, especially when she is deep in thought. Sometimes, I would give that   
ponytail a good yank (if my girlfriend was gone). She would return me a furious   
look, turning red as a tomato, before going back to her studies.   
  
Another thing that crushed me that year was the fact that he tormented my  
friends. A girlfriend of mine sat next to him during science class. He would  
threaten to light a matchbox and would also hold the flame dangerously close to   
her hair. The poor girl, dreadfully scared of matches, would complain about it  
to me. And I saw what I really meant to him. An amusement. Just like she was.

I had tried to reach her friends. Maybe they would say something about   
it to her. Besides, my girlfriend wasn't in that class. Yet she never mentioned  
anything. Her friends wasn't as fun as her... or cute... anyway.  
  
I can't believe that I finally reached high school. I felt old. Well, not   
that old. Sometimes, I feel too clumsy and naive to be a high schooler. Once more,  
I hoped to have a class with him. Once more, I was crushed. Even in the rare times  
that I see him down the hall, he said nothing. He would look at me. I could  
always feel that scalding look. For some reason, his eyes would be always be  
so intense. Even under casual glances, I could feel his eyes burn me. And I'd  
be red. Again.  
  
I was completely steeped in sports and school work. High school was a  
totally different experience. There was people from other middle schools. There  
was weekend parties with hot girls and alcohol. Everyone popular was dating,  
and kissing, and hitting third base. And I had my share of girlfriends. She  
had faded to nothing but a reminder now. Yet sometimes I would pass down the   
halls and see her, with a set of textbooks always in her hands. I wanted to  
say hi and talk to her, but high school was even less liberal than middle school.  
And I haven't seriously said anything to her since sixth grade. There were   
brushes during seventh and eighth but other than that, she was a complete stranger.  
I hated the social barriers. There was nothing that I could do.  
  
Slowly, he faded to nothingness. Well, almost nothingness. I've had   
other crushes since, but they weren't the same. Nobody was as intense as him. He  
made my heart fluttler, my throat choke, and my palms sweaty... before he even opened  
his mouth. And he had gotten handsome. And popular. I still don't understand  
why I'm stuck on him. Sometimes, when I was alone and it was at night, I would   
let myself flip through the yearbook and find pictures of him. I would trace  
that face over and over again. Then I would go to the athletic section. He  
made varsity soccer as a sophomore. I was proud of that. Only then, in the   
secrecy of night, I would allow myself to daydream. I had many dreams about   
him. For a while, I was convinced that he was my soulmate. He always seemed  
to understand me, even though I never opened myself up to him. And I would ponder  
on the what ifs. What if I had sat next to him in Spanish class instead of that  
blond? What if I talked to him that one time in the lunch line? But I was glad   
that he and the blond was over. They dated for a whole year and there was even  
some speculations of "marriage and a baby carriage". But then, all of a sudden,  
it was over. Now she's dating the capitain of the swim team. Good for her. The  
captain was an upperclassman jerk.   
  
By our third year of high school, she was completely gone. I'd hear of  
her achievements once in a while. She sure was smart. And cute, but still  
painfully oblivious of it. Maybe I should pop by and tell her just how cute she  
was. She was also single. I always tried to see if she was going out with any-  
body. It didn't matter that I had a date... as long as she doesn't. She would   
always be there, in the back of my mind. She never had a boyfriend. I wonder   
who she's waiting for. Meanwhile, I had gained the reputation of a player. I   
find that I liked blonds a lot. Most of my girlfriends were blonds (all of them   
fake, or at least "lightened" blonds). Hmm... I wonder why.  
  
By our third year of high school, he was completely gone. Except   
occasionally on lonely nights, of course. I knew I was doomed from the start. I  
was too nerdy and quiet. I didn't dress in sexy little tank tops or short little   
ruffled skirts. I didn't wear makeup or do the "hair toussle". I was simply   
unattractive. He would never go for a social outcast like me. Never. Not even  
in a million years. And besides, I was too focused on my studies. I wanted to  
get into Harvard. For the duration of my high school years, I had emmersed myself  
completely in Science Olympiad and AP courses. I did not have time or energy for  
boys. No time for HIM. Right?  
  
The cycle of girls and parties was wearing on me. Everything seemed  
vapid and shallow all of a sudden. And I find myself going back to HER. And then,  
I realized something. It had always been about HER. I was never over her.   
We've never had any earth-shattering conversation, but my heart always knew it  
had to be her. My soul knew. And suddenly, the feeling of HER flooded over  
me. I coudn't stop thinking about her... wondering where she is... wondering   
what her hopes and dreams were...  
  
The studies were wearing on me. It seemed so meaningless. Harvard was   
too expensive for my parents. I couldn't burden them like that. I mean, I   
could always work hard for med school later. Everything seemed such a waste  
all of a sudden. Working had stripped me of my life. I hadn't gone out with  
friends in over a year and I haven't attended a single dance since high school.  
And it was already my senior year! I've wasted so much of my precious high  
school experience. And then, I find myself going back to HIM. My heart had  
never left HIM. Ever since he took a piece of it, I had never gotten it   
back. And I never will. I fell into depression. Would I go back to him forever?  
Would I be an old maid, desperately seeking him years later at a high school renuion  
only to find him settled with Betty Crocker and three kids? Love was so hard  
for me. I was a hopeless romantic, but nothing had ever happened. My friends  
had gotten through courtship after courtship while I remained distant. My harsh   
attitude toward men intimidated them. Even mother chided me for not being sociable   
enough. Only one man had been fearless when it came to me. HE had brushed away   
all thorns. And when I retaliated, would laugh and tease me mercilessly. It was   
the only way for him to burn through my defenses. We've never really talked but   
I knew he was the one. It was approaching the end of high school. Soon,   
everything was over. I had decided to go to a local college. Those four years  
were wasted. Wasted.  
  
The four years went by so quickly. It was blur. Many would argue that I   
had the perfect high school experience. I was athletic. I went to parties. I  
had girlfriends. But somehow, it felt empty. I wanted to talk to her one last  
time. One more moment before we separate forever. I'm going to a local college.  
I had never studied that hard during high school. I wasn't dumb. Quite the  
contrary. But I had to pay my own way, and other schools are expensive. Besides,   
the local college ranked twentieth in the nation. Not bad. The urge to see her was   
now stronger than ever. I would daze off, turning my head around and around in   
hopes of seeing her. And when I did, I wished that she would never go away. She   
was so cute. And so oblivious of it. But I think I would never get the chance   
to see her again. Then what would I do?  
  
I was glad to make it to one high school dance during those four years.  
I went to the prom with a bunch of social outcasts like myself. Near the end  
of high school, everyone matured so much. There were no more dumb cliques. Everyone  
became the same. The popular girls were people, just like me. I was no longer  
scared of them. They were just another group of friends, like me and my friends.  
All the popularity contests in middle school seemed so petty now. I wish I had  
known this earlier. Everyone else looked amazing at prom. You know the little  
story about popular girls being all beautiful and blond in high school and then,  
years later, become old tired ladies with five children, a trucker for a husband,  
and a job as a waiter in the nearby highway diner? Well, that's a myth. I'm   
utterly convinced that they would look good forever. I felt so plain there. Sure,  
I had spent a pretty penny on my dress. It was white, with an empire waist. And  
I even took the time to put on makeup and wear heels. But it was nothing compared  
to the sexy numbers worn by the popular girls... girls that HE would date.

I saw her standing in the crowd. My heart thumped in excitment. She was  
there! After all those years! And she looked... well... not just cute anymore.  
She was beautiful. The dress, made of some shimmery, almost magical material, radiated  
outward. She glowed, like no other woman in the room did. The other girls wore   
low dresses that showed their breasts and curves, but they were nothing compared   
to her. She didn't need to flaunt her assets. She didn't need to show them to   
be noticed. A friend whistled at her image. And then, another truth surfaced. I   
wished that I had found the courage to ask her out earlier. Instead, I was blinded   
by high school cliques. I had wasted four years jumping from girl to girl when   
the most perfect one was right under my eyes. And my friends, I concluded as I   
eyed their expressions, would have no problem with it. It was male pride. Stupid   
male pride.  
  
A slow song came on and I cowered in the corner, sitting down at a table   
and watching all the couples dance. They were so beautiful. The women looked  
like jewels, their shiny and bright dresses swishing in tune to the music. The   
light was dimmed and I could see some kissing in the dark. The romantic in me  
cried out. The girls had lovely corsages on their wrists. I would've liked one.  
Of perfect white roses and baby's breath. And I would have a date, too. Dark,   
tall, and handsome. A feeling of desperation washed over me. Why? I was still   
young. I have the rest of life ahead of me. But a part of me knew that it was this  
night or never.   
  
A saucy redhead had asked me to dance. I refused. Instead, my eyes were  
on the angel sitting in the corner. She was watching the other couples. Her brilliant  
white dress stood out like a sore thumb in the darkness. She was so exquisite. I  
was proud of the woman she had grown to be. My feet began to move and I felt myself  
being carried over to her. I saw the other guys eyeing her. They all had partners  
but could not ignore the girl in the corner. Although I was scared, I felt like  
being under a spell... a dazzling spell weaved by her. What if she rejects me?  
What if she would cooly glance my way and laugh?  
  
What if I could never fall in love? What if I am always doomed to sit in  
corners like this? My chest hurt. It felt squeezed, and I clutched by heart, the  
weight of it all compressing me. I wanted to die. And then...

And then.. she noticed me. I saw her eyes widen. She looked down immediately,  
and pretended to pick lint off her dress. She really was too cute.

What was he doing? Was he coming toward me? Or maybe he was going toward   
some other girl behind me? I couldn't breath. That was the effect he had on me.   
It was always about you wasn't it?  
  
She looked so embarrassed, but I knew her feelings never changed. Not since  
the sixth grade when I first laid my eyes on her. I walked until I was directly  
in front of her. Yet she still wouldn't look at me.  
  
I felt like a fool. It was obviously him. I could see his shadow cast over  
me. But I couldn't look up at him. I wouldn't. I was scared of what he would  
uncover in my eyes. I know that one gaze and he would see everything... every  
little bit of feeling I had for him. And then he would laugh at me. He would laugh  
at the little girl that had fallen in love with him and refused to forget.  
  
I wanted to hold her in my arms. She looked so vulnerable. She had given  
up on the lint routine and is now fingering her white gloves. I bent down, until  
I was at eye level with her.  
  
I felt him bend down to me and I had to look at him. And that's when I saw  
the emotions in his blue eyes. It wasn't just he that uncovered my secrets. I   
uncovered his as well. He loved me.  
  
She loved me. Those simple words, which gave us coutless hours of heartache  
and longing, was released in a simple look. She couldn't breath. She just simply  
looked at me and I at her.   
  
He grabbed my hands.  
  
I led her to the dance floor.  
  
He wrapped one arm around my waist and enclosed the other hand around my own.  
  
We swirled around in tune to the music.  
  
I simply looked at him. We didn't exchange any words.   
  
We didn't say a single thing. We wouldn't dare breaking the moment.  
  
The music was sweet, but I couldn't remember the song they played. Only HIM.   
  
She surrounded my senses. The feeling was undescribable, unsurpassing...  
  
I love him.  
  
I love her.  
  
When did it happen?  
  
How could this have happened? How could I have been so lucky?  
  
How could this wonderful man be near me? Dancing with me?  
  
The song ended.  
  
We parted.  
  
But I'll always know... she loved me.  
  
He loved me. And he always will.  
  
It was the end of the beginning. Only after the music finished did we seem to   
get over the trance of the song. We stared at each other, slightly uncomfortable.  
After all, a lifetime has just passed before our eyes but we still haven't said   
anything to each other.  
  
We left the prom early. Hand in hand, we raced down the steps, reveling in  
the prescence of each other. It was the end of the beginning.  
  
We talked for days. We didn't do anything else. Just talked. She would   
give quirky little stories of her odd years as an outcast and I would amuse her  
with tales about being a "star jock". And sometimes, we would not talk. We   
would just stare at each other and let our souls do the talking. It was as if  
all those years of lonliness and frustration was over. I felt complete. Whole.  
My soulmate was with me. Serena.  
  
I felt the first moments of true joy in my life. Darien was with me. I  
need no one else. He loved me. And he always will.

(END)  
  
Like I mentioned earlier (if you'd bothered to read the author's note in  
the beginning ) 90% of the stuff here is true. All of the middle grade  
stuff actually happened. I really did step on my bridge. We really did sit  
next to each other for two quarters (the second time because I yelled out ten).  
He loved pelting me with wood chips and I hated missing him in retaliation. And  
oh yeah... the Egyptian scene.... Happy memories.  
  
I would die if he was reading this right now. But then again, he hated   
Sailor Moon (or maybe he pretended to just to annoy me) and the chances of him  
reading fanfiction is very slim... extremely slim... impossible... right? But if  
he were to see this, he would immediately know who was writing . And then  
he'll probably yell at me for making him "say" all those things that were... not  
true.   
  
Stylistically, this piece was a departure from my usual. It was perfect  
gramatically, and I wanted a more casualness to it. It is a conversation-like  
piece after all. I kind of liked it.   
  
In the real world, he and I are now strangers. He morphed into this super  
popular dumb jock. But sometimes I would still look at him, and the romantic in  
me would sigh. And reminisce. I'm glad that Serena and Darien got a happy ending  
(I wasn't sure whether to make them separate - most logical - or get together   
- most romantic -. In the end, being the sap that I am, I schemed up the end   
scene). Sorry to bore you with the LOOOONNGGG author's note. I hate to be one  
of those: give me 203 reviews or I'll never write again (you know who you are )  
but reviews would be appreciated. They are the bread and water of a budding  
writer . Happy readings!  
  
Angelica S.  
  
P.S. I hated the name Sailor Negaverse (which I'm known by in ASMR), but decided  
to stick with it. Getting a new account would be WAYYYY too much of a hassel. Oh fanfiction.net... why won't you let me use the star symbol? Why? WHY?


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